River Song is Worried Sick

I have always suffered from separation anxiety.  I cannot tolerate being separated from my parents.   They have tried to contain me in several different manners, but they have all proven futile. They put me in the laundry room behind a five-foot high fence.  I pushed off my three-inch legs and scaled it.  When they put me in a plastic crate, I stuck my little paw through the crate door and opened it.  I did the same with the wire crates, and also forced my head through the top of the wire crate and got out.  No cage can hold me.

My parents determined I would be less of a danger to myself if I were given free reign of the living room and kitchen while they were out.  Pocket stays happily in her crate, inside her kitty condo.

While they are gone I pace, I look out windows, I get on table tops, I fret, and I worry.  What I don’t do is go to the bathroom, which is good, or drink water, which is bad.

The Sunday before Memorial Day my parents went to a cookout without me.  I don’t know why.  It is a cook OUT!  I would have been good.  They left Pocket and me at home.  They didn’t come back until it was almost dark.  I was very worried.  It took me an hour to settle down after they returned.

On Saturday I worried myself sick.  My parents were gone for five hours.  I had not prepared myself for their lengthy absence.  I should have made sure my bowels were empty before they left.  Nothing makes bowels slip out of you like worry.  Sometime during the five hours, I doubled.  A lot.  I made a Jackson Pollock painting of poop on my pee pad.  When that was full, I let more artwork by the TV.  I think I pooped out more than my body weight.

Now, I not only had to be worried about my parents being gone but about how they would react to my poop decorations.  I was concerned and ashamed.  I paced between the windows while my worry gene triggered my drool mechanism.  I was too upset to drink water.

When they arrived, I barked happily.  As they were opening the front door, I jumped two feet in the air to see them through the door window.  When they got inside, they did not pick me up, or touch me.  They tried to play it cool.  Daddy leashed Pocket and me, and we went out to do our business while Mommy cleaned my droppings.  I was so relieved that they were home and I wasn’t in trouble. Then I realized I was thirsty.  When I got inside, I drank a whole big bowl of water.

Five minutes later I spit up a puddle of water, a few second later another puddle.  Ten minutes later came a full vomit and three then more vomits and diarrhea.  I couldn’t settle down.  I just kept walking around the house.  I had worried myself sick.

And this made my parents worried sick.  Logically they knew I was reacting from my separation anxiety.  But parents never think logically.  They began to fret that I had swallowed something that had caused a blockage.

They decided to take me for a walk.  That got all the anxiety out of my body, and I stopped vomiting.  I had a small plate of turkey which I kept down, and later that night some more turkey and kibble and kept that down.  By the end of the night, they determine the crises had passed.

My parents don’t know if I drank too much water and began throwing that up then that triggered me bringing stuff up from my stomach, or that I became dehydrated from drooling and ignoring my water then drinking too quickly when they got home.  So they bought me a new, smaller water dish.  That doesn’t seem a good way to combat dehydration to me but what do I know?

They are also concerned about how to combat my separation anxiety.  They might consult a vet for medication.  I don’t want to be drugged.  I do have the perfect solution.

My mom can never leave the house again.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

On the one paw I am full, on the second paw there are starving dogs in the world, on the third paw we all know I am going to eat it anyway.

Monday Queston

Where is your favorite(s) places to be rubbed or scratched:

Pocket:  I am so tiny I can be rubbed from tip to tail with one hand but I do like butt scratches.

River Song:  Give me a belly rub and I am a happy dog.   I love an ear scratch too

Cocoa Puff is our June 4, 2017 Pup of the Week

When I was still a mortal dog, and Tanner Bub passed to the Bridge, I entered his dreams and walked with him to the banks of the River of Life.  I watched my friend, who started the walk old and sick, become young and vital again.  When I arrived on the Immortal side, it was that young, vital friend who greeted me.

When Tanner passed, more than eight years ago, he had a little sister, Cocoa Puff.  Like all of us Cocoa grew older, and as she did life threw many tribulations at her, seizures, arthritis, the loss of an eye, until finally, this week, Cocoa had no fight left, and her mom assisted Cocoa on her final journey.

Cocoa was many things, the co-founder of social network for dogs, a sibling to humans, a sibling to dogs, and a daughter.

After her passing, and before she went to the Bridge, I met Cocoa in the Land in Between where I showed her how to enter the Tanner Brigade, the social network site that we created together in 2009.  

We walked by her house, and mine, and past many empty houses that, when their owners went to the Bridge, remained standing, a testament to their lives, and then over to the new construction, where lots of our new friends had built happy homes and filled our site with love and laughter.

I showed her Blogville, a place she never visited in her mortal life, and the home of the Idaho Pug Ranch, who, like Cocoa, lived in Pocatello Idaho.  “I am sorry you never got to meet them in the mortal world, but I am going to introduce you to Mabel when we get to the Bridge. You are going to love her.”

Finally, we went into Facebook Land to see the final remnants of the place where we first met Doggyspace and Enzo’s shiny new garage.

Then it was time to cross the River of Life and for Cocoa to become immortal.  It was raining when we arrived.  The clouds, filled with our parent's tears, had opened over us.  I made sure I collected all my mommy’s tears to help my garden grow.

I gave Cocoa the angel oath, Scooby designed her wings, Lady Bug showed her how to fly, and Leo promised to teach her how to become a ghost and visit her family.

Then Cocoa saw her angels siblings:  Tanner and Ruger.  She went to Tanner first.  They hugged for a very long time.  They had an inseparable bond, and now they were together for eternity.

Tanner let go, and Cocoa turned to Puppy Ruger, the dog Tanner personally chose to replace him.  Tragically Ruger got sick and went to the Bridge at a young age.  Ruger had triggered Cocoa’s motherly instincts and made her want to play like a pup again.  When Ruger departed Cocoa lost the desire to play, but, when she saw her little brother, she took off chasing him, and they did not stop for a half hour.

While it was a joyous at the Bridge back in Pocatello, the family was in mourning.  Cocoa had not just been a daughter; she has grown up with her human brother Alex.  They had that special relationship that only a  boy and his dog can experience.  They grew up together, until, as human boys must do, Alex moved away.  Cocoa knew this was part of loving a boy when he spread his wings; she had to let go.  But just before Cocoa got her wings, Alex joined his mother for Cocoa’s final trip, to give his support to Cocoa and his mom, just as Cocoa had raised him to do.

Cocoa also left behind her dog brother Max, who is lost without his big sister.  It is hard for a mom to lose her pup, and even harder for mom to see another dog she loves mourning.  Max, you will see Cocoa in your dreams, and you have her and two other brothers just waiting to take you on amazing adventures.  I know you miss seeing Cocoa in her mortal form but look for her in your dreams.

And most of all Max, Cocoa needs you to take care of the person your angel siblings love more than any other person in the world, your mom Trudee, who now has four angels at the Bridge, including Rommel, who arrived before dogs became proficient at computers.  

Having gone through it before does not make it any easier.  Mom Trudee is going to need all our love and prayers because a big part of her heart is now at Rainbow Bridge.  

But she is a tough woman, a great dog mom, and a fighter.  We know she is lost now, but, between her and Max, and her three angels, she will find her way out of the darkness.

She has a lot of angel power to light the way.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Angel Meika Looks for Answerss

Memorial Day is an odd day at Rainbow Bridge.  While the mortals on their side of the River of Life are having barbeques and thinking about those who have passed to the immortal side we have big cookouts, with lots of chocolate cake, big thick steaks, and many other foods we are not allowed to eat on the mortal side and think of those we left behind, what you call the living.

Another difficult day is our “Gotcha” Days when we celebrate the day we came to live with our families.  Birthdays and holidays can be celebrated with other dogs but a “Gotcha” Day is personal between dog and parent and when they are separated there is more pain than joy.

This week Meika had both her “Gotcha” Day and Memorial Day which made it quite an emotional week for our dear friend.  Also, she is one busy angel, her family’s health gives her plenty to pray, and fret over.

Her Uncle Rob had had many health problems, both before Meika’s became immortal, and after.  There has been long hospital stays when Rob has been away from his family, and his best bud Kole, the stray that Meika directed to her family to ease the pain from her passing.

His Dad Jeff contracted Bell’s Palsy more than a year ago.  His health deteriorated quickly.  Meika spent days in the cathedral praying for her dad.  He did get better, but his recovery plateaued.  The right side of his mouth remained paralyzed.

Meika has taken on the burden of her father’s illness.  Every day she flies prays up to the Big Guy on top of his mountain.  She also meets with all the genius doctors who live in the big hospital on the human side.  She has convinced them to work on a cure.  When it is created, she will make sure slips into the dreams of mortal researchers and tells them what to do.  Eventually, she hopes, this cure will reach her dad.

It is hard to get Meika away from her angelly duties but me, and Meika’s long time friends, Scooby, Odie, and Wishbone do take her for picnics at the river, and we run up and down banks snipping at one another.  But Meika is the first to leave, getting back to the work of making her dad healthy again.

We have all stated saying prayers for Meika’s dad’s recovery.  We love playing with Meika, and with her dad sick her playtime is limited.  

If you could join us in prayer, it would be greatly appreciated

Pocket and the Thunderstorm

I am a delicate machine.  I have to have the same food, and the same treats at the usual time, each day.  A couple of hours after supper I have a “small plate” of kibble and turkey.  Most importantly, just before bedtime, I have to go outside and make what we call a double.  (A pee is a number one, or a single, so number two is a double.)

If I don’t have my late night double then, the next morning, I will have a rumbly tummy, not want to eat, and inevitably leave a nasty double behind a chair.

Storms are a problem.  Snow is the worst.  I won’t perform in the snow.  Daddy, who is in charge of my double production, tries to walk me around our tiny, enclosed deck, on snowy days but usually, neither one of us are satisfied with the results, and I am left with a rumbly tummy.

I am not fond of rain.  I am not as bad as River Song who is as insistent about not performing when it is wet as Van Halen is about not performing when they don’t get the right M & M’s.  But River is not delicate.  She can eat anytime, double anytime, and has no performance anxiety.

I have learned to go out in the rain and perform.  I don’t like being dried off afterward, the towel is rough and pulls on my hair, but it is also warm, and the drying is a form of petting, so it is a fine trade off.  

The worst storm is the thunderstorm.  At the first rumble, I seek out Daddy.  If he is sitting, or lying down, I begin at his lap, and with each loud crash, I move up his body, until I am perched on his head, my tiny claws trying to dig into his hard skull for balance.

On Thursday night, right at final double time, a thunderstorm rolled in.  Daddy picked me up and told me I needed to be brave and produce.  We went outside.  It was not raining hard, yet, but there were thunder overhead and lightning all around us.  I hate lightning.  I know it is unlikely since I take up only a speck of space in the universe, that I will be struck, but I worry, because Foley may have gotten a paw on a bolt, and she has often threatened to smote me.

Like all dogs are taken outside during a storm I could not perform my dogly doodie duties.  Every time I positioned myself, there was a rumble of thunder, or a crash of lightning, to interrupt the process, and resume my search for the right spot.

Daddy was getting impatient.  He took up a lot more of the universe than I did as was more at risk.  But he also knew that nothing ruined my double concentration like a raised voice.  His only option was to softly plead with me to complete my double.

Finally, there was a break between thunder and lightening, I wiggled my butt in position and popped out a double.  Daddy picked me up and quickly carried me home telling me I was brave.

We went to bed shortly after that where I assumed my position on Daddy’s head.  

I had been brave for the evening.  Now I could go to sleep comfortable in my role as the family coward.